


Why Neville Really Hates Baker Street

by robinasnyder



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinasnyder/pseuds/robinasnyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville is dropping off a gift for a friend of his Gran's when he meets the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock is curious, and Neville simply wants to not have 'breaker of statute of secrecy' on his records.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Neville paused at the door of 221B Baker Street before he pressed the bell. His morning had begun with trying to figure out how best to deliver a magical product to a very muggle section of London. Martha Hudson was an odd type of squibb who preferred to live a completely muggle life, except for occasionally stopping at the Leaky Cauldron just to keep in contact with the magical world. According to Hannah, Mrs. Hudson had once had a fling with Hannah's uncle Tom before she'd gotten married to an American. Hannah had made fast friends with the older woman.

That didn't quiet explain to Neville why _he_ had come to Mrs. Hudson's residence and not, say Hannah, or his Gran, who also knew Martha Hudson. Yet he had been informed that he would be the one to make the gift and to deliver the gift, and get the gift wrapped because it was summer and Hannah was budy with the pub, and Neville was terrible at running the pub.

He didn't think he was as terrible as Hannah made out, but he certainly didn't have his wife's prophetic ability to predict exactly what drink a person wanted before they even walked up to the bar. She told him that it was a muggle trick she'd learned, but she also wasn't sharing it with him, probably because he didn't have the patience for it.

Neville could be incredibly patient for a lot of things, like a stakeout, for example. He could be patient for plants, and for his daughters and wife, and he could even be patient for a potion when he didn't have a greasy git hanging around over his shoulder making him feel inadequate at life. What Neville did not have the patience for was looking at someone in the right way to figure out what they should be drinking.

So he'd made the gift, a balm to help Martha Hudson's aching hip. He bottled the gift and he had it wrapped at a muggle gift store. The fact the only gift store he could find that would wrap an outside gift was one that catered to American tourists so it was very expensive as far as wrapping went and was covered in the Union Jack made Neville wince a bit. If/when it got back to Hannah or Gran, he'd be in for an earful, but he couldn't much help it at this point.

He looked at the brass 221B on the door and sighed. He'd been there for a whole two minutes and no one had answered. He didn't want to be a Weasley and keep pressing the doorbell obnoxiously; he had better sense than that. Yet enough time had passed that he wondered if anyone was home. He reached up and pressed the bell again. He listened, frowning, not actually hearing a bell. Did the bell not work?

Suddenly the door opened and Neville jumped back, not having expected the door to open. An older woman that Neville hoped was Martha Hudson stood at the door. She seemed as surprised to see him as he did to see her. "Oh dear, have you been standing out here long? I'm afraid that Sherlock shot the doorbell a while ago and I've just never gotten it fixed."

"He shot the doorbell," Neville said. As an Auror he'd had training to blend in with muggles, hence is very normal brown muggle suit. (He was a bit dressed more than for a normal day, but Hannah had picked it to deliver the gift and he hadn't argued with her.) Having dealt with muggle law enforcement he knew that citizens weren't supposed to have fire arms. What kind of nut job lived here? Was this why Hannah was so insistent on sending him? Trying to find a safe way to protect her friend? To get the authorities out to her home?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind he knew it was wrong. He'd spent weeks making the balm. If the woman was actually in danger, Hannah would have told him months ago when she'd met the woman (Hannah was good at telling things about people in general, actually. It was a shame she'd become a business owner and not an Auror).

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson said, stepping back to let him in. "You're here to see Sherlock," she said. "Well, come on," she said, glancing at the package in his hand. "That's very nice, but I'm not sure he's going to like it much," she added heading up the stairs.

"Um, actually," Neville started, but ended up following the woman up the stairs. He couldn't actually seem to get his words out or to get her to understand them, so he just gave up and followed her up.

The room at the top of the stairs was exactly the type of mess Neville imagined a flat shared by Ron and Harry would look like if they hadn't gotten married very quickly out of school, and if they'd be muggles sharing a muggle flat in London. He found that comforting. He also found it disconcerting that there was a smiley face painted on the right hand wall with bullet holes in it.

"Sherlock, you've got another one," the woman said, moving about the room and straightening up as if she couldn't help herself.

Neville's eyes moved instantly to the man in the leather chair. He sat around in posh black pants and a white shirt, though also clad in a royal blue silk dressing gown. He was sprawled out on his chair in much the way a petulant child would, except the man was tall, lanky, and old enough to know better. The man's ice blue eyes flicked over to him in a look for bored tolerance and an almost hope until he saw the gift.

"He isn't here to see me," the man said.

"Really?" Mrs. Hudson asked from where she was straightening papers.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, right?" Neville asked, jumping on the opportunity with both feet to be able to do what he'd spent time on the tube for. "My name is Neville Longbottom. I'm Hannah Longbottom's husband, and Augusta Longbottom's grandson. They sent me to apologize for not being able to come themselves and to give you this," he said, offering her the gift. "I'm sorry about the wrapping paper," he added.

The woman looked very surprised and a bit watery eyed as she reached out to take it. "They didn't need to."

"The women in my life inform me that birthdays are very important," Neville said.

"Mrs. Hudson, I didn't know it was your birthday," said a man coming from the kitchen. He was a bit shorter than Neville, and dressed like a normal muggle would: not exactly unfashionable, but more for comfort. He stood with a particularly straight back that reminded Neville of the Aurors who helped to deal with the muggle wars. A soldier then, at some point, or an officer of some form.

"It's just silly," Mrs. Hudson said, sitting down in the chair opposite the overly tall man.

"No, it's not," the soldier said, shooting the tall man a look. Neville caught a look on his face that was _almost_ guilty before it went back to just straight boredom.

"You can tell your wife and grandmother that this was very thoughtful," Mrs. Hudson said. "Should I open it now?" she asked.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be interesting to look at. It's a balm for your hip," he said. Mrs. Hudson looked very pleased, understanding it was magical remedy, one she'd never bother to get for herself and probably very strong since it was a gift. The soldier frowned, not getting why a balm would be a suitable gift.

"No," the posh man, Sherlock if Neville remembered correctly.

"No?" the soldier asked.

"No, John," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said in a way that was obviously a chastisement for a crime that had yet to be committed. It was such a mothering tone too that Neville scrapped all the previous notions he'd had of the man being dangerous (to her anyway) and thought of him as very tall mid-thirties adolescent, which he thought was probably more accurate anyway.

"It's not _just_ balm," the man said. "You can wipe that frown off your face. Whatever it is, balm for certain, for pain, also certain, but strong enough and hard enough for Mrs. Hudson to come by that it is a suitable gift," Sherlock said. "Which is odd because Mr. Longbottom here clearly made it."

"How did you know that?" Neville asked, slipping his hands to keep from crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He'd learned a little something able how to present his body from Auror training and growing up.

"Self deprecating but proud. You put real work into it, though you also cut your work down. You don't mention that you made it for one, and comment on how it looks. 'Not much' indeed," the man said, standing up now as he started to swing into his deductions. One glance at the soldier, John, and Mrs. Hudson and Neville could see that he did this often. "You cut down how it looks, the wrapping which you obviously didn't do, paid for by you, though. Only an American gift shop covers a package with that many flags. Yet you also discount the looks of the contents, as if to protect yourself from her disappointment. You're obviously very sure of your abilities, so you're a professional, professional what is the question, but you're good at what you do. You undercut your gift, but don't bother to explain why it's a good gift. If you'd been unsure about your work you would have explained in great detail, but you said nothing about the balm itself other than its base purpose meaning you believe your work can speak for yourself. Back to the profession. You have the fingers of a man who works with plants and soil, dirt under the fingernails which are kept trim for work purposes. You also work with knives, and are habitually clumsy, though you've grown out of it. Your fingers and wrists are scared in many places, most of them facing a few new. This would suggest some kind of botanist, except that you also made the balm which suggests chemist as well. Yet not all the scars match, some are deeper and seem in a more deliberate pattern than a simple accident, probably extending further up your arms, but these are old, adolescent injuries, older school years. Your stance also suggests and officer of some form, though a position you've retired from judging by the way your shoulders have started to lean in again. As a child you had self esteem issues which persist to today, which appear not just in your stance by the way you speak about the gift you've brought, The fact that you've grown past most of these insecurities is obvious by the way you don't talk about the affects of the balm." The man sat back down.

Neville stared at him for a minute, his mind needing a moment to catch up with the very quick speech. "Well, that's not something you see every day," he finally said. It seemed nicer than to tell the man to piss off. Certainly that was what Ron and Harry would have said... Ginny too, probably. Hermione probably would have asked him to repeat everything and hound him to teach her how to do it. Luna would have commented about some nonexistent something that seemed to be able Sherlock's head and ears. That last thought made him relax enough to not just be angry. Imagining the man trying to deal with Luna Scamander was a sweet and silent kind of victory on its own.

"There is one question though," the man said.

"Being?"

"What exactly do you do?"

"Botany, sort of," Neville said, knowing the man wouldn't be happy with just that. "I'm a professor at a private school in Scotland," he said, using the old fallback for muggles. "One of my colleagues is a chemist and I've learned from him… and others. We help each other, mainly," he said.

"Hm… interesting."

"Doesn't seem that way, no offense," John said to Neville.

"It's rather catching, isn't it?" Neville asked, meaning Sherlock's clear disregard for social constructs.

"Sadly," John said.

"Not the job," Sherlock said, interrupting the side conversation. "Mr. Longbottom here is lying, you can tell by the way he looks to the side, but he's not too… fascinating, why lie about this?"

 _Many reasons,_ Neville thought. _Statute of Secrecy for one. I'd hate to have THAT on my record. Harry gets all kind of hell even still because of the stupid House Elf incident from when he was a kid._

"I'm afraid you'll just have to puzzle over that on your own," Neville said. "Mr…"

"Sherlock Holmes," John said. "I'm John Watson by the way," he added, walking around his chair to shake Neville's hand.

"Neville Longbottom," Neville said. "Got a question for you, what is it that you do?"

"Catching," John said and Neville smiled. "I'm a doctor," he said.

"Really?" Neville asked. "I would have guessed a soldier of some kind."

John looked momentarily unnerved. "How did you know that?"

"Oh, a bit stupid I suppose. It's the way your stand," Neville said, waving it off. "Not as impressive as your friend," he said, glancing at Sherlock who was suddenly deep in thought. "He was right, I used to work with a private investigative agency. Actually, I was trained by a man when I was still in school who taught defensive theory, yeah odd subject," he said with a shy and off handed smile that made him seem self-conscious but harmless and made most people stop asking questions. "He had this saying: "Constant Vigilance". The department really took that up after he died. We got special observance training, had to write down everything we'd done all day and got graded on it. Hardest thing I'd done sense school, but I still remember a few things. Our agency has a few gents who run a couple of investigations in Afghanistan currently. They all pick of that stance after a while."

"Hm," John said, tilting his head to one side, his brows knitting together. "Didn't think that was something you just picked up," he said.

"Mimicry is something else that's important to our agency," Neville said.

"It sounds like Sherlock Holmes institute," John said, shooting his friend a look, who wasn't paying attention. Neville noticed then that Mrs. Hudson had slipped out of the room.

"I can't say I know," Neville said. "But I quit for a reason. I prefer plants to people, even with having to deal with a couple hundred students."

"Teaching's hard?"

"Mostly not seeing my family," Neville said.

"Oh, dull," Sherlock groaned from his seat.

"Ignore him, he gets bored between cases," John said.

"Cases?"

"Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective," John said.

"Ah, what's a consulting detective?"

"I step in when the police are particularly out of their league which is always," Sherlock said.

"Or when he sees a case that interests him," John said.

"Which entails?"

"The first case I met him on was that set with the serial suicides," John said.

Neville looked confused. "How can you have serial suicides?"

"It was a serial killer," Sherlock said.

"It was all over the papers, did you not read it?"

"No, I'm afraid my family's rather old fashioned, no newspapers or telly or the internet, and the school's the same," Neville said.

"That's… rather… strict," John finally decided on.

"And wrong," Sherlock said.

Both men shot Sherlock a look, but it gave Neville and excuse to look at his watch. "I believe that's my cue to go home," he said. "My wife's going to want me to help her tend bar when I get home, and I can only avoid that duty for so long," he said.

"Right, it was good meeting you," John said, showing Neville to the door.

"Nice meeting you too, John," Neville said and walked out. He'd say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, get far enough away and the apperate home when no one could see him.

* * *

"Sherlock, can you be any less annoying, possibly? He gave Mrs. Hudson a gift for her birthday when we didn't even know and you chased him out."

"Oh please, he didn't come for her. He came because his wife and 'Gran'," he said the word sneeringly. "Told him to be here. He didn't even know Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, but we do, and we haven't gotten her anything."

"Just delete it, it's not important," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, it's her birthday."

"Which she prefers to ignore. Don't rush out and buy some cheap trinket just to assuage your guilt at something you had no way of knowing. It won't make anyone feel better," Sherlock said.

"Put your shoes on and get your coat, we're going out," John said.

"What? What for?"

"To go and get a card," John said, sitting down in his chair and pulling on his shoes. "And no, you can't stay here, you're coming too, and we're going to buy a cake on the way home, a good one from the bakery, even if it has to be small, and we're getting her a candle to blow out."

"Human rituals," Sherlock groaned, but he pulled on his shoes, his suit jacket and went for his too big too hot coat (for the summer anyway. If John didn't know better, he'd have thought Sherlock was anemic).

"Yes, and we will be doing a few of them," John said, tossing Sherlock his scarf, which he put on before pulling up his collar.

"It's interesting," Sherlock said.

"What? Human rituals?"

"No. What type of detective agency is involved with investigations overseas in war zones?"

"I don't know," John said, having thought it sounded odd as well. Yet he'd seen some really weird things, especially since he moved in with Sherlock, and Neville Longbottom had seemed rather unassuming and like a good chap and so John hadn't thought about it. Now John was thinking about it.

"Sounds like something Moriarty would deal with, or my brother," Sherlock said.

"You think Neville Longbottom is involved with Moriarty?" John asked, not believing it.

"No, but that doesn't mean he's not involved with Mycroft's business," Sherlock said as they headed down the narrow staircase.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"My brother has always wanted me to get more interested in his business," Sherlock said and John found himself smiling. Sherlock had something to keep his attention and to keep him from shooting more holes in the wall. That really was the best birthday present either of them could give to Mrs. Hudson.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm telling you Hannah, the guy was a freak," Neville said, earning a hard smack on his arm from his wife as she passed by. The customers were either abed or gone and they were just cleaning up. They'd wake in time to serve a late brunch and wait for the new slew of people to come through. Summer, especially the closer it to school, always balanced their books for the rest of the year.

"That's not a nice thing to say," Hannah said, but she was hardly angry. She swished her hips in just the way she knew he husband liked and he grinned before turning back to wiping down the bar.

"If I'd stayed much longer he would have gotten me into lying, real lying, not the half lying. And he would have known that it was all a lie. He was good, brilliant even, more logical than Hermione even could be. I'm sure that if he got me around him more often he'd eventually figure everything out on his own even if I didn't say another damn word," he said.

"Can you be sure?" Hannah asked, stopping what she was doing to turn and look at her husband. They both knew just what a bureaucratic nightmare a violation of the Statute of Secrecy could be. You had to get so much written permission even to talk to the families of muggle born witches and wizards. Even if Neville didn't tell this man, he would get labeled for doing it.

"Hannah, I am certain. What's more, I'm certain that even if he was obliviated that he'd figure it out all over again. I'm not sure I didn't just sign my own warrant by showing up on Martha Hudson's doorstep," he said.

"She said her tenants were peculiar, but that there wasn't any real harm in them. He never got anything off her," she pointed out.

"But Mrs. Hudson is a bit odd, even for a squib. She purposefully lives a completely muggle existence except for popping into the pub."

"You know, I like her, but sometimes it seems like she only comes to be sure that she didn't make up the magical world," Hannah said, leaning against the bar. Neville found himself momentarily distracted by his wife's hips. He loved them. She was deliciously plump, and her curves only got better after having the girls. Sometimes all she was to do was move around the room and he'd find himself staring at her. "Nev, focus," Hannah said, but she was grinning.

"On your thighs? When am I not focused on them?" He asked with a grin.

"Rude!" Hannah declared, faking insult and smacking him with a rag. Yet before he could pull away she grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss.

"My feisty little witch," Neville teased, returning the kiss. They let themselves become absorbed in themselves for a few moments. They got so little time together during the school year that they took every chance to be together they could during the summer.

"Mmm… okay, okay, let's hurry this part up and get to bed," Hannah said, going back to her cleaning. She had magic clean a lot of things, but this was her once-weekly hand cleaning night where they scrubbed down everything on their own.

"Sounds good," Neville said, polishing the newly installed taps.

"Mmmm… Nev?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you say the man's name was?"

"Which one?"

"The one who's about to blow our cover," Hannah said, rolling her eyes.

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes," Neville said. "Why?"

"Holmes isn't a very common name."

"No, but then Longbottom isn't very common either," Neville said. He alternated between being proud of his last name and wondering what god decided that his family would be saddled with such a name. He'd have told Hannah to name the girls Abbot if he wasn't sure that his Gran would have killed him for it.

"Wasn't Holmes the name of the man they have as one of the contacts with in the British Muggle government?" Hannah asked. "What was his first name… Mmm…" She trailed off.

"Mycroft!" Neville said, suddenly remembering as well.

"Any relation?" Hannah asked.

"Oh, I've got no idea, but it's worth a shot. Harry owes me a favor anyway for that burn salve I brought him after the dragon incident," he said.

"That was five years ago," Hannah said.

"And he still owes me the favor, with interest for it being so long ago," Neville said, making his wife chuckle. He knew it was just to please him, but he didn't care. His joke and amused him anyway.

"Do you think that this will help anything?"

"No idea, but honestly, if I jump on this now then I'm less likely to get saddled with so much blame when this man figures everything out. Let's just hope he can keep his mouth shut."

"Do you think he can?"

"Well he very loudly read me like a book, but I think he was trying to annoy me or his flatmate… still not sure which. In any case, I really have no idea," Neville said as he finished his polishing. "I'll go see Harry tomorrow," he said.

"Alright, you're done there, I'm done here, bed now," Hannah said, laying her cloth out so it could dry. Neville did the same and scooped her up. She laughed loudly as her husband carried her up the stairs. They let the outside world alone for that night, indulging in each other instead.

* * *

"You do realize that I actually have a job, right?" Harry asked, raking his hand through his hair to get some of his always wild hair out of his eyes.

"Like you don't want to be distracted," Neville said.

"Shhhh!" Harry said over dramatically, waving the door closed. "Slow week, thankfully," Harry said, leaning back in his very plush and comfortable chair. "So… you see any kids I should pluck up after graduation?"

"You asking about the DA kids?" Neville asked.

"I thought you were telling me they didn't exist," Harry said with a smirk.

"Oh please, I'm not in the mood for traditional pretending," Neville said. "Besides, it's not like I don't have this," he said, pulling the sickle out of his pocket.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"It was Creevey's idea, blame it all on him," Neville said. "He was the last one of us still in school, and it was him who trained all the kid, using your methods. We have young Aurors in training in Hogwarts," he said.

"Any good ones?" Harry asked. He'd always suspected, but normally Neville was very tight lipped about school, and none of the other professors said either.

"They're all applying to your department's training program," Neville said. "Maybe you can help me with this. Is it better to let everything be a secret dueling club still… or should I come in and help them actually learn things?"

"Like what? How to do spells?"

"No, like the observation work we had to do, or the muggle stuff we had to learn?"

"Why don't you just ask the room of requirement," Harry suggested. "You know, to leave them notes with helpful tips, or books that will help them."

"Can it do that?"

"Can it not do that?" Harry asked.

Neville considered this, leaning back in his seat. "You really, really should come and teach, for just a year."

"After I retire… I'll consider it," Harry said.

"Wow, an honest answer, I never get that," Neville said.

"I've been talking to Ginny. I don't want to become as paranoid as Moody, and I don't plan to do this forever, just as long as I'm useful. We were talking about that I might try to teach Defense after I get old and retire, and Ginny might take over for Madam Hooch whenever she actually gets around to retiring."

"You're really thinking about this?" Neville asked, a little surprised.

"It's one of my possible plans. Don't worry, one of our many possible plans involves moving to Hawaii for the rest of our lives," Harry said with a smile that made Neville laughed. As a general rule Harry Potter did best when he had absolutely nothing to do, or so much to do that he would lose his mind if one more thing got added to his pile.

"Sounds nice, whenever I retire I'll just be stuck tending bar for the rest of my life," Neville said.

"Lucky you," Harry said with a chuckled before settling in. "So, what brings you out here? It can't just be social or you'd wait until I was off, or fireplace Ginny and set up a time for us to meet later."

"Harry, I need to call in a favor," Neville said.

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"Not the snake one," Neville said. He was never sure if Harry was serious about owing him for killing the snake. He didn't even want to know what could be so big that Harry would need to have a favor for Neville to cash in before he'd come help. "The dragon burn one."

"Mid-level then."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Neville said. "There's a threat to the Statute of Secrecy."

"How bad?" Harry asked.

"Not like a muggle finding Hogwarts bad, but I've got a man who now knows my name in face who I think can figure out that I'm a wizard."

"A muggle man?"

"Yes."

"How?"

" I'm not sure how he does it, but he got a good look at me, figured out I worked with plants, but wasn't a botanist, knew I was an officer of some form, knew that I was clumsy when I was younger and that I didn't think well of myself, but that I was good at my job."

"He told all that from a look."

"And he's interested in figuring out more," Neville said. "Harry, I'm pretty sure that if I ever see him again that he's going to actually get more. I had to resort to the secondary lie about the Auror office." The first lie was for normal muggles. Aurors were trained to say the worked with the police. The second lie was for the police. Aurors were trained to say they worked for a private investigative firm.

"Was he an officer?"

"No, but I could just guess that he'd see through the first lie completely so I didn't even bother…. What did he call himself? A consulting detective?" he asked. He frowned, seeing Harry tense just the slightest bit. Normally a person wouldn't notice, but Neville knew Harry and he'd trained with him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I just think I've heard that somewhere… what did this man say his name was?"

"He didn't. His flatmate and his landlady did though. Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"Oh bloody-" Harry caught himself off, instead stick to silent and controlled, if violent hand motions.

"What is it? Do you know him?"

Harry let out a deep breath he'd been holding during his little spastic tantrum. "Not in person, no," he said, slipping back into his seat and looking like he could very much use a holiday. "But I've been warned that if I cross paths with him that I'm to turn and walk away as fast as I can without running or looking too suspicious. Where did you meet him?"

"By who? I met him in his home. Hannah and Gran had me dropping off a gift for his landlady," Neville explained.

"I'm sorry Neville, this only became a real problem once you were gone, so I never thought it'd matter. We deal with muggle law enforcement sometimes. We just have to, can't help it. It happens. We get called on to help out sometimes, but we're not allowed to touch any cases that Sherlock Holmes touches, for reason of the Statute of Secrecy."

"Is he that dangerous?"

"No, he's just that clever, and even worse for needing to solve a mystery than me and Ron and Hermione were," Harry said, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I never told you because mainly he's so muggle none of our kind would have any reason to get near him, and because there didn't seem any reason why you'd ever have met him."

"A birthday gift, apparently did us all in," Neville said, commiserating along with his old friend.

"Apparently. Try not to worry too much just yet. It's good you came to me. I'll call Mycroft Holmes and see just how much damage he can mitigate from all this," Harry said.

"Am I going to get a mark for this?"

"Bloody nightmare if you do, but I'll see what I can't do to stop it. Mr. Holmes warned me that this would happen eventually. Good luck for my department that it was you. Bad luck for you and me that it was you. Really sorry about this," Harry said, starting to make notes and pull out the phone he had in his office that was specifically for dealing with the muggles.

"Exactly who is Mycroft Holmes to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Big brother," Harry said. "Not a happy relation from what I gather, but I try not to gather too much. I don't like getting mixed up with Mycroft Holmes unless I absolutely have to."

"Who is Mycroft Holmes?" Neville asked, wondering what kind of muggle man could order around the head of the Auror Office.

"Officially? He holds a small position in the British muggle government."

"Unofficially?"

"Unofficially, I have no idea, and I hope never to not to. What I do know is that he man knows more about my job and my people than I do, and that's bloody disturbing enough to make me keep away from him as much as possible," Harry said.

"I'm sorry Harry."

"Not your fault, no way you could have known. Even if you stuck to the story, Sherlock Holmes apparently can see through it. It's not idle reasoning that's got me keeping my people from him. He is the type who'd figure this out on his own. The only question now is just how fast he's going to figure this out, and whether his brother already knows and is already taking steps to fix it, or if I get to be the bearer of bad news."

"He's know already?"

"He probably knew there was trouble before you did."

"He doesn't sound like much of a muggle."

"I hope he's just a muggle, because from what I've seen him do with only muggle resources I'd be afraid of what would be left undone if he also had magic at his disposal," Harry said, honestly shuddering at the idea. Neville had never met Mycroft Holmes, but the name was wizard-ish enough that he'd remembered it and heard about the man as a source in the muggle government. He was starting to wonder just exactly what else he'd been blissfully unaware of until now, and just what exactly he was about to learn.


	3. Chapter 3

John had never been to the Diogenes Club before, but Sherlock simply dragged him through to Mycroft's private room with nary a word. To all appearances is it was simply a gentleman's club and John thought nothing to be odd about it except that Mycroft happened to be a member. He wondered if everyone in the establishment helped to run the government to the extent that Mycroft did… though John could hardly imagine there being more than one Mycroft Holmes.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said, looking up from the file he'd been glancing over. He didn't seem surprised to see his little brother there. John imagined he'd probably known they were on their way before the two of them even left home.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said, throwing himself down on his sofa.

"What, may I ask, brings you all the way down here," Mycroft said. John wondered suddenly when the actual last time either of the brothers had been in the same room because Sherlock came to visit. How many years had it been exactly?

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," Sherlock said. "You're always begging me to visit, begging me to get interested in your business."

"I never beg," Mycroft said.

"But you do want me here. I want to learn a bit about what you do," Sherlock said with a big and fake smile.

"Sit down, both of you," Mycroft said, indicating two chairs in the center of the room. He rose from his seat behind the desk and found a place in one of the arm chairs around a coffee table. He was still on the other side of the coffee table from John and Sherlock. "Why don't we stop dancing around this, I am aware about what you can to ask."

"Ah, still on high security observation?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," Mycroft said.

"I'm not a child; the business with the woman was cleared up, was it not? You don't have to try and protect me from everything," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing a bit, especially when he felt John shift uncomfortably next to him. Clearly they both still thought she was dead. Foolish.

"You were on high security observation before that."

"You admit it," Sherlock said.

"Frankly, Sherlock, you are too much of a security risk to not have on observation. Now, ask me your question," Mycroft said very clearly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong but he wasn't sure what yet. "Neville Longbottom."

"A professor at a very exclusive, very prestigious and very secretive school in Scotland," Mycroft said.

"He said he used to work for an independent detective agency that dealt with cases in war zones as well as domestic cases," Sherlock said.

"Such things do exist," Mycroft said.

"And the only groups that would do this either exist under Moriarty's shadow or yours," Sherlock said. "but he wasn't in an independent anything, was he?"

"No, and no, he was not under Moriarty's shadow, as you so eloquently put it."

"But you're not going to tell me what he was."

"He worked for the Auror office. No, you've never heard of it," Mycroft said, looking between John and Sherlock who both looked confused. "And I cannot tell you about it."

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sadly, it's one of those law things."

"Which you are generally above," Sherlock said.

"Yes, but not in this case. This is too important, and you're too loose lipped," Mycroft said.

"I know how to keep a secret."

"Only if you want to. This is one that must be kept. I'm sorry, but I cannot tell you any more than that. If you insist on investigating further then I will be forced to take measures of my own," Mycroft said very calmly.

Sherlock looked annoyed, very annoyed, but he simply rose. "Come on, John," he said, walking out. He made no sound until they were outside hailing a cab.

"You gave up easy," John said.

"Hm? What? No, he wouldn't tell me anything else anyway, but I got enough."

"Like what?" John asked, knowing better than to ask 'how' as Sherlock would just brow beat him for not paying attention.

"High security, higher than embarrassing pictures of royalty. Higher than missile plans, higher than the Coventry problem. This is more important and a better kept secret than Royalty, terrorists, or military. This is something that if I find out and I tell people it will topple people's perception not just of the government but of everyday life. This is a big secret, one that a normal person wouldn't believe so it can hide in plain sight, which is why even I haven't noticed it before… but now that I'm looking," he said, trailing off a bit.

"So… what do you think it is?" John asked.

"I have no idea," Sherlock said.

"I still don't understand."

"Of course you don't!" Sherlock hissed. "Isn't it obvious, what would be so big that the government not only won't deny existence of it, but won't acknowledge its existence?"

"Sherlock, you're starting to sound like some of those paranoid theorists that believe in aliens."

"No, not aliens, that wouldn't change the way we look at normal life," Sherlock said dismissively.

"So, it's not aliens, or Elvis still being alive," John said, earning a blank stare from Sherlock. "Never mind," John said. "Are we just throwing out the craziest things we can think of now?"

"No, there has to be logic to it. I can't just be a stupid or crazy theory," Sherlock said. "Stop," he told the cabbie, tossing money at the man and getting out. John climbed out, shutting the door and following after Sherlock.

"What are we doing now?" John asked.

"Why does Mrs. Hudson go out?" Sherlock asked.

"What?"

"Why does Mrs. Hudson go out?" he asked.

"I don't know, groceries, shopping, getting her hair cut," John said.

"Where does she go when she's gone for a long time, I mean being gone half the day?"

"I… uh… I don't know," he said. "She uh… she said once, complained about how far away Charring Cross Road is," John said.

"Charring Cross… have you ever seen Mrs. Hudson come home with books?"

"Not often, I mean, if she gets books it's normally trash romances from the store nearby. Charring Cross is a bit far to go for trash romances," John said.

"Exactly," Sherlock said.

"So that's where we're going," John said, suddenly realizing where they were headed. "What are we looking for?"

"Something wrong," Sherlock said. The look in his eyes suggested that he was concentrating very hard. His eyes ran very quickly up and down each building on each side of the street as they walked up the road. Right when they were about to get to Great Newport Street Sherlock grabbed John's arm.

"What?" John asked.

"Do you see that?" Sherlock asked.

"See this, this old building!" Sherlock exclaimed, waving at the other side of the road before dragging John over. For the life of him all John saw was an old music store and a bookstore. "Do you see it!" Sherlock asked.

"What are you seeing?" John asked, getting exasperated at nearly getting his by a car just to stand in front of a music store.

"This, this right here," Sherlock said, placing him in front of a very old building that John would have sworn wasn't there before.

"What… when did this get here?" John asked rather stupidly, he thought.

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "I've walked down this street a million times and I've never seen this building, but it's too old to be a new store," he said.

"Right," John said, forcing himself to see the building. His eyes seemed to want to be dragged to the book store or the music store and not actually see the building. "Let's go in," John said.

"Agreed," Sherlock said. He pushed the front door open and John followed after him. He suddenly wished that he actually had his gun with him. There were some people in the pub that seemed like they were normal. Outside of those few people, most of the people were dressed weird. The suits seemed too old to be fashionable, maybe they would have been back a hundred years previous, but not now. Others wore things that John could only describe as robes. "Mouth, John," Sherlock said, pushing his way forward to the bar. John closed his mouth and followed behind him.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron," the woman behind the bar said. "What can I get for you?"

"Whiskey," John said instantly. He needed it too.

"Oh, so you're not from near here," the woman said. She was plumper than the women John normally found attractive, but she had a manner about her, like she loved her body and found herself sexy, which just made her very appealing. She pulled out a glass and poured him his drink. "Firewhiskey," she said.

John took his shot. He felt like he had just swallowed the flaming end of a candle, but he suddenly felt like the place he was standing in wasn't near as threatening as he'd felt before. "What is this?"

"Ogdin's Old Firewhiskey. I'll sell you a fresh bottle before you leave. Nother shot?" she asked.

"Yes, two. Sherlock, you have to try this, for scientific reasons," John said, chuckling at Sherlock's cocked eyebrow.

"You know I don't like to impede my thinking process," Sherlock said.

"Oh, are you Sherlock Holmes?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Who are you?"

"Hannah Longbottom. Martha Hudson talks on about you constantly," she said, pouring a second drink. "Butterbeer shouldn't mess you up," she said, slipping the tankard over to him. Sherlock considered it before he took a sip.

"That's not why you recognized me, though," he said. "your husband mentioned me yesterday, didn't he?"

"Correct," Hannah said, leaning over the bar a bit. "You're about to get him in trouble," she said.

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

"Statute of Secrecy," Hannah said with a big smile. "It's such a mess to get a mark for that," she added. "No real punishment, but all the paperwork you ever submit for anything takes fifteen times longer than it normally would."

"Figures," Sherlock said, sipping his butterbeer. "When is your husband returning?"

"No idea, he went to the… what's the word… I feel like I've lost all my words today… Hmm… oh yeah, Home office," she said.

"That's not the word… well maybe it is the word you were told to use, the one to match your husband's original lie, so yes it does correspond to where he is, but you wouldn't normally call it the home office," Sherlock said.

"Oh, you're good," Hannah said, not at all disturbed. "Anyway, I got summer rush," she said. "Just pay in muggle money and I'll sort it out at the bank later. Find yourselves a table," she said.

"Muggle money?" John asked.

"How much would you normally expect to pay?" She asked. John pulled the money out of his pocket, leaving it on the bar and went to follow after Sherlock who'd found a booth to sit in.

"Muggle money?" John asked Sherlock once he'd sat down.

"Interesting a different form of currency," Sherlock said, nodding to a sign listing specials. Price was listed in Sickles, Knuts and Galleons, whatever those were.

"Weird," John said, taking his second shot. He felt even braver than before. "Really Sherlock, try this," he said, switching the third shot for Sherlock's tankard. He tried the butterbeer. It didn't make him feel more resilient, but it was good too.

Sherlock observed the whiskey, picking it up and looking through the liquid. He sniffed it for a moment before taking the shot. John could tell by Sherlock's expression that he was dealing with the incredible burning sensation the liquor produced. "Fascinating," he said softly, obviously getting the brave feeling as well.

"Yes," John said, taking it upon himself to finish Sherlock's drink. It was unlikely that he was going to want to be any more impaired.

"Tell me John, what do you observe?" Sherlock asked.

John found himself craning around to look at everything in the pub. There was a lot to look at. It certainly was old and well used. "Well, they used candles, I don't see any electric lights."

"Right, no electricity," Sherlock said. "Keep going."

"The clients," John said, lowering his voice a bit.

"Of a specific type. We're the outsiders. Their garb would look odd on the street, but normal clothes don't look odd among their ranks."

"Do you think they walk about London like that?" John asked.

"Possibly. These aren't costumes."

"How can you tell?"

"Are you ever as comfortable in a costume as you are your own clothes? No, these people are perfectly comfortable in their own clothes and own skin. Not only are they wearing their normal garb, but they're in a place where their type of dress is completely normal. What else?"

"The building's ancient."

"Dates back to the 1500s," Sherlock said. John didn't bother asking how Sherlock knew that. John didn't actually need to know.

"It seems… like a normal pub," John said after a moment of hesitation. "I mean, not normal… but it doesn't feel weird. This is a place where people normally come to eat and drink and see their mates. This isn't a place they go to dress up. This is a normal place for these people. Like you said, we're the outsiders," John said.

"Good, John," Sherlock said.

"Really?" John asked. "What did I miss?"

"Lots of things, but you're doing better," Sherlock said in a way John was sure he meant to be encouraging, but was actually condescending.

"Then enlighten me," John said, not quiet able to hide his annoyance. Sherlock just smirked like the complete bastard he was.

"The tap at the bar," Sherlock said.

"What about it?"

"It's brand new," Sherlock said.

"So?"

"So… when is the last time you've been in a pub that didn't have some kind of tap?" He asked, but didn't let John answer. "Exactly. This is brand new. This place is obviously slow at catching up with the times, no electricity at all, building from the 1500s. The patrons continue to go over to look at the tap like they themselves have never seen anything like it. It's not just the pub, but the society that's out dated. These people speak with a standard accent of some kind of British origin, yet they are completely separated from our society, even having their own monetary system. They refer to us, outsiders, normal people, as muggles. Hannah Longbottom commented on the Statute of Secrecy. This isn't a standard British law. This is a law specific to their culture, their world, but it's one that not only Mycroft knows about, but also adheres to. This is what's being hidden, not aliens, but a whole other world that operates both within British society and beside it," Sherlock said.

"But why?" John asked.

"I don't know… but Mrs. Hudson is a part of it," Sherlock said, suddenly standing up. "You finish that, I'll buy the firewhiskey," Sherlock said, going to the bar.

John watched him go, hesitating to leave Sherlock alone with these people for any reason. He didn't want Sherlock to offend them. Whoever they were, they warranted being able to live completely separate from normal people, possibly a big group. This was a big secret… the idea that Mrs. Hudson was one of them made John's skin crawl a bit. He had to remind himself that they weren't investigating a crime, they were just looking into a lie that had been told… he just hadn't thought it would be about anything so big.

"Let's go," Sherlock said, coming back with a case of butterbeer and two bottles of firewhiskey.

"Right," John said, standing up and following Sherlock out. They were just going to go home and ask Mrs. Hudson a few questions… he was just starting to wish he'd had that third shot of firewhiskey before they went to do this.


	4. Chapter 4

The second they returned to Baker Street Sherlock shot up the stairs, leaving John to pay for the cab, and carry the liquor up on his own. He grumbled all the way up, taking it slow so not to accidentally drop something and then have to clean it up himself, maybe with Mrs. Hudson's help. Sherlock would never help clean anything in his entire life, especially if he hadn't provided the mess.

John was busy grumbling when he ended up in his flat. He was greeted with the sight of a very upset looking Mrs. Hudson and an annoyed Sherlock. "Christ, you shouldn't have had time to say anything awful this fast," John said.

"Did you boys really go the Leaky Cauldron."

"The what?"

"The pub we were in," Sherlock said.

"Oh yeah, real hard to get there," John said.

Mrs. Hudson got very pale. "Muggles aren't supposed to be able to get there."

"What's a muggle."

"Clearly a word for one of the people that's not one of that world," Sherlock said.

"Okay," John said. "I'm going to put this away," he said. He paused, thought about it for a second and looked at Mrs. Hudson. "We got a bottle of firewhiskey and butterbeer," John said. He was taken aback when Mrs. Hudson nearly sobbed. "What's wrong."

"Just proving that we actually did go to the pub," Sherlock said.

John sighed heavily. "Don't say anything until I get back," he said, going and finding a place to put the drinks before coming back out of the living room. He sat down next to Mrs. Hudson on the sofa and put his arm around her. "Is it really so bad that we know?"

"Of course it is, 'Statute of Secrecy', remember?" Sherlock asked.

"Hannah made it seem like it was just a bureaucratic problem."

"It's more than that," Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out and gripping John's hand tightly. "Sherlock," she said, focusing on him completely, imploring him. "You have to understand how this was before the statute was in acted. We joke about it now because it's so old… but you know how people are. If they see something they can't have they get… so jealous, and so spiteful. It's not for your protection, its for our own. Please, please don't press this anymore," she said softly.

"You know I can't simply let this go," Sherlock said, looking grumpy, like he didn't really believe her.

"Sherlock!" John snapped. Whatever was going on… well it made John very worried. Protection, why would these people, whoever they were… why would they need protection for the rest of the world.

"How old is the statute of secrecy?" Sherlock asked

"1692," Mrs. Hudson said softly. "But our kind had begun withdrawing from the public eye before that."

"1692… that's the witch trials, wasn't it?" John asked, feeling something settle hard in his stomach.

"How did you know that?" Sherlock asked.

"School," John said, looking back at the couch's other occupant. "Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, that's around the same time," she said, like she was alluding to something and trying to push them away from it too.

"I don't understand," John said.

"Why, why were you going in hiding around then?"

"Oh Sherlock, please," Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you do not tell me, then I'm going to find out on my own and probably in a way that is dangerous to me and your world," Sherlock said.

Mrs. Hudson looked honestly betrayed, and when John glanced at Sherlock he could see something like guilt pass over his eyes.

"The statute of secrecy is the short name," Mrs. Hudson said. She paused and then took a big breath before continuing, trying to hold Sherlock Holmes off for as long as possible. "Its full… official… name is this…" She trailed off again, sighed and took another big breath. "The International Statute of Wizard Secrecy."

"The what?" John asked, looking positively gobsmacked. "Wizards… like magic?"

"Yes John, exactly like magic," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Magic, like real magic?" John asked.

"Yes, real magic."

"Prove it," Sherlock said.

"I can't," Mrs. Hudson said.

"See, not real," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, I'm a squib, a person born to a magical family that has no magic," Mrs. Hudson said. "It's like those genetics things you go on and on about," she said. "I was born to the world, I buy things there sometimes, I use their bank, but I can't use magic."

"Mrs. Hudson, I know you know the truth. I never believed you capable of making up such an outrageous lie," Sherlock said, looking honestly furious.

"I'm not lying, Sherlock. I'm not trying to distract you from your mystery. I'm telling you the truth."

"There's no such thing as magic," Sherlock said.

"But there is," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Get out," Sherlock said, pointing to the door, absolutely radiating fury.

Mrs. Hudson looked seriously upset but she drew herself up and walked out with as much pride as she could muster. John watched her go before looking back at Sherlock. "I can't believe you did that."

"She's telling preposterous stories to get me off the trail. Mycroft must have spoken to her," Sherlock said, starting to pace, trying to think.

"Or, you know… she'd telling the truth," John said.

"Oh please, like you really believe that nonsense!"

"Well… no, but you've got to admit a lot of it lines up," John said.

"No it doesn't. How does it?"

"The witch trials for one."

"Coincidence or part of the lie," Sherlock scoffed.

"The way everyone dressed up differently."

"A different world inside London, of course they'll dress differently."

"The age of the buildings and the fact that they were so far behind the times."

"Again, John, another world hidden right under our noses."

"How about that we couldn't see the damn place until we seriously concentrated on it."

"I'm going out," Sherlock said, heading for the door.

"What, you just going to leave without admitting one way another?" John asked.

"I need to think I need to be alone," Sherlock said and walked out.

John stared after him for a moment before starting to pace. Finally he sighed and went down to 221a. He knocked. "Mrs. Hudson." He waited for a while before the door opened.

"Come in, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, giving him a sad smile. "Sherlock left."

"Of course he did," John said, sounding as frustrated as he felt. "Mrs. Hudson… can I ask you something… about… well, about magic?"

"Of course, please, come sit down," Mrs. Hudson said, taking him to her kitchen table to sit with her.

"Why do you have to hide… if you have magic it seems like you'd be able to defend yourself against… well, muggles was the word, right?"

"Yes, that's the word… and it's not that simple. The magical population is very small… and very old. We don't progress very fast. Wizards still use owl post, and few if any even own telephones. There was things we can do without technology, and communications that we can use where are faster than what muggles can do… but muggles make up for a lack of magic by making their own solutions to problems," she said.

"I still don't understand, back in 1692…"

"It was the children John… there were children who were being tortured by muggles to that they'd use their magic for the muggles. The children couldn't defend themselves and they weren't well trained enough to use their magic. Wands are almost always necessary except with a high amount of training, and so the children were the most volatile, weakest, and under trained. Besides the children many witches and wizards were burned of tortured. We make jokes about Wendaline the Weird, who used the anti burning spells to protect herself and let herself get caught over and over… but those were very serious times…"

"Are they never not serious times?" John asked, trying to insert a joke because of how serious Mrs. Hudson looked.

"We had a terrible time… so many people promoting wizard supremacy… like the Nazis, except within our own boarders," she said softly. "England is very magic, just the land itself has always had strong ties to magic… even more so than other places. I think Japan, maybe Chine or India might had just as strong ties, but they're different. They practice a little differently than we do… England as seen the two strongest, darkest wizards in history come from our country… anti-muggle wizards… sentiment passed down from a time when our kind were hunted and tortured."

"Oh," John said. It sounded so real… it was just still so big… He didn't know how he could accept it without seeing anything… but he didn't plan to just run off like Sherlock. "What about now? Why no revealing yourselves?"

"We have very effective ways of killing one or two people… and muggles invented the hydrogen bomb," Mrs. Hudson said softly.

"You'd be overwhelmed."

"Badly… John… I don't… I don't really spend time with the wizards. I go to the Leaky Cauldron sometimes… because my family and my whole world was magic when I was young… I go to be nostalgic, and I made a few friends… but I'm more muggle than witch… I think that there's something better about the muggle life. I think muggles learn more. Wizards worry about magic only… we never worry about math or science or music… when Sherlock showed up it was such a surprise… he was so odd, but he knew more about anything than almost all the wizards I'd ever met… maybe Albus Dumbledore could have given Sherlock a run for his money if he was still alive… but Albus was very old… and he was like Sherlock… well, more like Mycroft. Mycroft liked him can you believe that?"

"What, Mycroft liking someone… who was Albus Dumbledore?"

"The headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry… where Neville Longbottom teaches… Albus was also the most powerful wizard alive… for a very long time," she said, "I met him a few times, he was so delightful, and so wise… and kind, but smart and wicked when the time came. He loved people, but thought in big strokes… and sometimes even the people he loved could be pawns… like Mycroft a lot, really," she said.

"Yes, except for the loving people part," John said, smiling at his landlady, standing up as he did so. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson… I'm just not sure if I believe yet… but you make it sound very plausible. I don't think you're lying to me, and I don't think you're crazy," he said.

"Thank you for that dear. Will you talk to Sherlock?"

"Whenever he gets back, I will," John said. "Would you like some butterbeer?"

"I'd rather have the firewhiskey," Mrs. Hudson said, getting up and walking around John and up to his flat. He smiled, following after her.

* * *

Neville was not happy to have been called in to see Mycroft Holmes. He was even less happy that Harry had been dragged along with him. They both made sure to have their completely muggle garb on (suits, both of them) when they arrived at Mycroft's office. "Hello Mr. Potter," a very attractive woman said. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water, Anthea," Harry said, going and finding a seat at a table. The woman stopped to look at him before walking out.

"She didn't ask me," Neville said.

"I ordered for you," Harry said. "Sit down," he added and Neville took the seat next to him.

"Are we supposed sit here?"

"No, we're supposed to sit in front of Mycroft's desk, but I don't want to feel like I'm back in the headmaster's office, do you?"

Neville grinned. "No," he said. He glanced up when a man came in with a tray with a pitcher of ice water, three glasses, and a bowl of little round mints, for which Harry produced a bag and scooped out about half of them. "What?"

"Ginny loves them, heck I do too. I discovered that bringing home a few made my day a bit better," he said.

Neville nodded, understanding, but he reached out and took one, popping it into his mouth. Yes, painfully goo, probably painfully expensive if even Harry couldn't afford them. No wonder Harry was hoarding them.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom," Mycroft said, walking in. He walked directly to the table, taking one of the two remaining chairs. "I see you both made quick work of the mints."

"Can't get enough of them," Harry said. "Mycroft," he added.

"Harry," Mycroft said, looking Harry Potter in the eyes in a way that few men could do anymore.

"Why have you called us here?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid it's about my brother."

"I thought so, especially when you didn't get back to me immediately when I called," Harry said.

"Yes, well, Sherlock just so happened to turn up at my club earlier today. We had a delightful chat. He's not going to stop pursuing this, whether you wipe his memory or not."

"That's what we were afraid of," Neville said.

"I am sorry for you, Mr. Longbottom, to have had to put up with my brother. I'll make sure you don't get a mark on your record… no, we need to have a very different discussion."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"My brother is what he likes to call himself, a Consulting Detective. The muggle police force find him very useful when they have a particularly puzzling mystery, ones that aren't magic related. He's very good with them," Mycroft said.

"So?" Neville asked, not getting it yet.

"Mr. Longbottom, it may interest you that Sherlock and his companion Dr. Watson discovered the Leaky Cauldron today. I've been told they enjoyed a few shots of Ogden's old Firewhiskey and a bottle of butterbeer, and that your wife sold them a bottle of Ogden's and a case of butterbeer."

"They found the Leaky Cauldron?" Neville asked.

"Many of your magical ward are built on fooling the human brain, especially a muggle's. The Leaky Cauldron can be found by anyone who's looking hard enough. Sherlock is very observant. I'm surprised he hasn't found it before. Dr. Watson, when put up to it, can also be very observant."

"Have they found Diagon Alley yet?" Harry asked.

"Not yet, but if left to their own devices, they will. Right now I imagine my brother has stormed out into the streets because he'd just been told about magic."

"What, how?" Harry asked.

"Mrs. Hudson," Neville said.

"Yes, exactly. She'll be the best to tell him, not that he'll believe it, initially."

"Sounds like the Dursleys," Harry muttered. Neville chuckled.

"Yes, quiet," Mycroft said, and Neville frowned. Mycroft Holmes really did know too much. "But he will come around. I originally thought to try and stop him from his exploration, but I decided it might be better if he did."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Dr. Watson will be a good gauge of how muggles will handle knowledge of wizards, and Sherlock will be good for finding holes in security…. If steered properly."

"And this is something you'll do?" Neville asked.

"Good heavens, no! Sadly, as the man who let the cat out of the bag is going to be the one to do it."

"Me?"

"Well, Mr. Potter as well, since you will be in school for a lot of it," Mycroft said.

"A lot of what?" Harry asked.

"I already told you, I'd hoped you were listening," Mycroft said, standing up. "Ah, Sherlock, glad to see you could come."

"You sent one of your people to tell me you could answer my question," Sherlock said, looking sullen. He glanced at Neville, looking at him with the same observant eyes as he had when he'd last seen the man. Then he looked at Harry Potter and turned up his scrutiny even more.

"Sherlock Holmes, my I introduce you to Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, and Harry Potter, head of the Magical Law Enforcement, Auror's, office at the Ministry of Magic," Mycroft said.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was not happy at being snatched off the street like he'd been. At the same time, the prospect of answers, real answers and not silly lies about magic, were more tempting than ignoring his brother. The car trip was thankfully short, and he was excited to hop out and get his answers. Normally he liked to find things out for himself if he could, but he was feeling very sullen about being lied to by Mrs. Hudson. For sure he would have words with Mycroft about putting her up to it.

"You sent one of your people to tell me you could answer my question," Sherlock said, walking into his brother's office. His gaze was first drawn to Neville Longbottom, the man who'd started it all. Then his eyes fixed on the other man. This was not a man to be taken lightly, but then neither had Longbottom when it came down to it.

"Sherlock Holmes, may I introduce you to Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, and Harry Potter, head of the Magical Law Enforcement, Auror's, office at the Ministry of Magic," Mycroft said.

Shelock's head shot around and he glared at Mycroft. "Of all the ridiculous lies, Mycroft, do you really think I'd believe this?"

"No, I know you won't, Sherlock. So much easier isn't it when science explains everything? If it were a lie I would have made it one you could believe. Sadly, this is the truth," Mycroft said, speaking in a surprisingly gentle tone that scraped Sherlock's last nerves.

"Prove it then," Sherlock snapped, his eyes fixing on Harry Potter. "Prove that you have _magic_." His tone heavily suggested quotation marks around the word 'magic'.

"I uh…" Harry trailed off, not used to being put on the spot to do magic. He knew hundreds upon hundreds of spells, and that moment the only one coming to his brain was _Avada Kadavra_ , born only from the sincere wish to get the hell out of there.

"Harry," Nevillie said gently.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"Patronus?" Neville suggested.

"Oh, yeah, good idea," Harry said, standing and pulling his wand out. He'd been casting this spell so often that he barely had to think of happy thoughts anymore. The entire department was required to know the spell, not just because of fighting Dementors. They were a ruddy brilliant form of communication as there was no way to stop the Patronus once it was cast or once it had a message to deliver. It would deliver its message only at the place or two the person whom it had been sent. It was great for sending important messages safely.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " Harry said and the stag shot out of the end of his wand. It galloped around the room for a minute before coming to rest by its master's side. Harry looked at Sherlock, expecting… well some kind of reaction. He looked bored.

"Please tell me that's not it," Sherlock said. "An image that can be created with advanced holographics? Yes, truly magical." His voice dripped with so much disdain and sarcasm that Harry momentarily had a memory flash in his mind of his old (previously hated) potions professor.

Neville stood up this time. "You have a phone, yes, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "Can you just take it out and hold it?" Sherlock did as he was told. Harry had thought that Sherlock might be even worse than the Dursley's, but seeing the look in his eyes now… Sherlock Holmes wanted to see real magic. Harry remembered being eleven years old and just so badly wanting magic to be real. " _Wingaurdium Leviosa_ ," Neville said. The phone in Sherlock's hand started to float up gently.

"Interesting," Sherlock said. He couldn't believe, not yet. He needed a bit more, but he was impressed that Neville Longbottom understood him so well. Had he Neville cast the spell on an object that wasn't Sherlock's, or had he made Sherlock let go of the phone, Sherlock wouldn't have believed it. "Do something else."

"What do you want to see?" Neville asked, letting the spell go. The phone thunked back into Sherlock's hand.

"I know," Harry said. " _Expelliarmus!_ " The phone flipped out of Sherlock's hand rather violently. Harry reached out his hand and caught it. Now Sherlock looked impressed.

"Mycroft, is it possible for… what was the word? Muggles? To learn magic?" Sherlock asked.

"No, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

"Damn," Sherlock said, looking upset for a minute before shrugging it off. "What else do you do?" He said, turning on the two wizards. He focused on Neville. "What subjects are taught at Hogwarts?"

"Lots," Neville said. "Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense against the Dark Arts,"

"Study of Ancient Runes, Divination," Harry nearly laughed at the expression Sherlock pulled at that one. "Potions."

"Like chemistry?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, actually, but with different plants," Neville said.

"Go on," Sherlock said.

"Flying, with broomsticks," Harry added quickly. "Astrology, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy."

"Study of magic of numbers… what else?"

"Muggle studies," Neville added.

"Muggle studies, really?" Sherlock asked. "No, of course. The Magic world is clearly closed off form the muggles, but need to be able to blend in. No doubt Muggle studies can be a daffy subject, since the wizards will study the muggles improperly," Sherlock said.

"You got the nail on the head on that one," Neville said. "We had to let go our last Muggle studies professor," he explained to Harry.

"Why?"

"You remember Charity Burbage? Well, she was a sweet woman apparently, but never understood muggles as well as she thought. All of her predecessors were either the Carrows or knew even less than she did," Neville said.

"The Carrows were anti-muggle," Sherlock said.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Obvious," Sherlock scoffed. He sighed when the wizards looked positively confused. "For a society closed off from the muggles it's obvious. Instead of ruling the muggles, wizards, with their abilities feel the need to hide from muggles, which means that the wizard number is not very large and that as muggle technology has caught up considerably in the past few centuries, and probably even surpassed Wizard tech in some areas, it is understandable that some wizards would feel threatened and anti-muggle sentiments would be fostered. Also, the legislation dealing with secrecy comes from the same era as the witch trials, which means that wizards went into hiding for their own safety. Finally, you broke the Carrows off in a separate group from the other muggle studies professors. This means there was something particularly wrong with them," Sherlock said.

"Just hating muggles wasn't their only fault," Neville said, his hand clenching in a fist.

"They tortured you, probably other students too," Sherlock said.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, glancing at Mycroft.

"I haven't told him anything," Mycroft said.

"My scars," Neville said.

"Mr. Longbottom has scars that are healed enough to be pre-adulthood, but during puberty still. When I first met him I deduced that he was clumsy as a youth, but these scars are too uniform. Mr. Potter also has some odd scars. "I must not tell lies?" Self inflicted, but less likely under his own willpower," Sherlock said.

Harry raised his hand so Sherlock could see it better. "This was from another professor," he said. "Two years before the Carrows. I wasn't there for the Carrows."

"Does sadism run in the wizarding community?"

"Those were different times," Neville said.

"The equivalent of magical Nazis were coming into power at that time," Mycroft said.

"Ah," Sherlock said, it all clicking in his brain. "Mycroft, you don't just give away something for nothing. What do you want in return for this?"

"Truly. Sherlock Holmes, you will expected to assist the Auror office with investigations, just as you do with the normal police."

"Brilliant," Sherlock said.

"Is that what you were talking about earlier?" Harry asked Mycroft, who nodded. Harry's brain started working very quickly. This man was maybe as brilliant as Mycroft Holmes, and he was a Consulting Detective. He took care of really complicated cases, things the normal police couldn't. He had figured out about their world in only about two days, and he could read both himself and Neville easily. "That's more than acceptable," Harry said.

"I only do interesting cases," Sherlock said.

"What, magic isn't interesting enough?" Mycroft asked, but he was joking.

"I'll need books on the subject," Sherlock said.

"Which one?" Mycroft asked.

"All of them, but the most on Care of Magic Creatures, Arithmancy, Runes, Potions, Herbology and Muggle Studies," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Neville asked

"You can't expect me to solve anything when I don't know about the world, can you?" Sherlock asked.

"You'll do fine on your own," Mycroft says with annoyance.

"My books or I'm not doing anything," Sherlock said. "The best ones, the very best Mycroft."

"Yes," Mycroft says, considering what to do next. "You will get your books, and you will have access to the world," he said.

"In exchange?"

"In exchange you will tell no one, no one about the magical world."

"I'll tell John," Sherlock said.

"He's acceptable, necessary if we don't want you trying to dissect a dragon," Mycroft says. Harry looks momentarily mystified. No one would be that crazy, would they? From the glint in Sherlock's eyes, he clearly would be that crazy.

"Fine," Sherlock says.

"I mean no one, Sherlock. You can't let it slip to anyone, not an enemy, or a friend or a stranger on the street. Don't ever mention it," Mycroft said.

"I said fine. I agree to your terms, but I have a few of my own."

"Which are?"

"I want to see this magical world, what's being hidden, and the school. I'll want to inspect the school."

"He can't just come to Hogwarts," Neville said.

"Muggle parents do for special events. I'll smooth it over with Pomona, don't worry, Mr. Longbottom," Mycroft said. Neville shut up just because it unnerved him to heard Mycroft call Headmistress Sprout by her first name.

"When can I see it?" Sherlock asked.

"School starts in September. You can wait until then," Mycroft said.

"And the rest?"

"Professor Longbottom will escort you and John to Diagon Alley tomorrow. No doubt you'll find your way there anyway, and it's better to have someone nearby who understands the world than simply allowing you explore on your own, especially since I take it that you will be getting potions ingredients?"

"You shouldn't attempt potions on your own, you could poison someone that way," Neville said.

"Good point, professor. Shall I leave this up to you?" Mycroft asked.

"You're asking me to tutor in a subject that isn't mine?"

"You did very well with the balm for Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. "I'm heading back to the Baker Street. I will expect you at the flat at 8 of the morning. Good day," he said and walked out.

"Mr. Holmes?" Harry Potter asked.

"Yes Mr. Potter?"

"Did you just give a muggle unfettered access to our world?"

"Mr. Potter, don't you think it will be interesting to learn what a muggle can and cannot do within the confines of the magical world?" Mycroft asked.

"For all that I've heard you complain about your brother's experiments… you like performing them too, don't you?" Harry asked. Mycroft just smiled. "Neville, let's go home," Harry said, leading Neville out.

"I have to lead him around Diagon Alley tomorrow," Neville said, a bit shell shocked.

"I'll go with you… or send someone. I don't get summer off."

"Harry, he'll be going to Hogwarts!" Neville hissed.

"We'll just deal with it… what was that about the muggle studies professor?"

"Oh, she told the students that muggles created electricity to run their Televisions," Neville said and Harry groaned, loudly.

"Isn't there anyone competent?" Harry asked.

"Unless you want to give up one of your aurors to teach the subject, no," Neville said.

"A muggle born?" Harry suggested.

"Aren't interested in the topic," Neville said.

"Hermione was."

"Yes, but she's also busy changing arcane laws against muggles right now," Neville said. "Short of getting a muggle to teach it, our only options are… really bad."

"We'll already have two muggles running around Hogwarts this year. Let's not add more," Harry said. "I'll see how I can help."

"Thank you! Just when the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse gets lifted, now we can't get anyone for muggle studies," Neville griped.

"They've been asking you to do it?"

"I've got muggle-training, but I don't know how to teach the subject in depth," Neville said. "Really, though, we need someone, pretty desperately. We have until September 1st to find someone."

"That edict about the ministry finding someone given that Hogwarts can't hasn't been repealed," Harry pointed out.

"Well, you should set Hermione on some of those," Neville said. "But really, you might have to."

"Let's try to not. We saw how well that turned out last time," Harry pointed out.

* * *

"John!" Sherlock called, running up the stairs. He found Mrs. Hudson and John giggling on the sofa, the empty bottle of firewhiskey on the table nearby. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry I told you that you lied," he said.

"Did Mycroft set your straight?" she asked.

"Let's not go that far," Sherlock said.

"What happened?" John asked.

"Tomorrow John, tomorrow we're going shopping at a wizard shopping district."

"A what?"

"A wizard shopping district, do keep up," Sherlock said.

"I didn't think I was that drunk… Sherlock, what happened to magic doesn't exist?"

"But it does," Sherlock said. He looked like such a child, so excited. "Just think of all the experiments to be done. I wonder what types of magical creatures there are, and where we can find some," Sherlock said, heading down the hall to his bedroom. "We're leaving at 8," he called before slamming his door.

"Did that just happen?" John asked.

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson said. "You best pop off to bed, you need to get up early to go exploring," she said, taking the empty firewhiskey bottle and starting to tidy up the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

The fact that Sherlock didn't simply burst into John's room in the morning and jump up and down on his bed like an excited child was most likely due to John sleeping with a gun under his pillow. John is very grateful to not have to shoot Sherlock that morning because he himself, though still skeptical, is also rather excited. Even his slight hangover can't kill his mood, especially once Mrs. Hudson leaves a magical hangover cure which make John realize exactly why wizards had to go into hiding: no one would ever stop bothering them for cures to things ever.

"Hurry up, John," Sherlock says, watching John neatly eat his toast.

"He's showing up at 8, we don't even know where we're going until he gets here."

"I bet I could find out."

"I bet you could too, but the day would be over by then," John says, standing up and walking past Sherlock toward the sink. He pops a piece of toast in Sherlock's mouth as he goes by. "Eat it, eat all of it," he orders. "Or I'll stay home and you can go on this magical adventure by yourself." That seems to be enough of a threat, or the food amount is small enough that Sherlock does what he's told. He does grumble about toast sweat as he washes his hands off afterward, but John is content.

Sherlock drags John down stairs about fifteen minutes before eight. He spends the next fifteen minutes tapping his foot very impatiently as he waits for the car to pull up. Finally at exactly eight, a car pulls. "Get in," Neville said, gesturing to the back where he was. "Borrowed a ministry car, way bigger than they seem," he added.

John shrugged and got in, putting himself between the wizard and Sherlock, hoping to act as some form of buffer between them. It doesn't really work. Sherlock is on Neville with questions the second he slides into the (improbably huge) back seat.

"This Diagon Alley," Sherlock said. "A wizard shopping district, where is it?"

"It's behind the Leaky Cauldron," Neville said, specifically and obviously not looking at the driver.

"Ah," Sherlock said, looking for all the world like a little cartoon light bulb should ding to life over his head. "Your wife is very smart. We walk in, and she greets us, gives us enough of a puzzle that we won't go snooping until she can talk with you and by extension my brother… very clever," he said.

"I think it was more likely me and by extension Harry, but yes," Neville said, beaming a bit.

"You wife seems very nice," John commented, letting Sherlock go off with his own thoughts.

"She can be, or she can be really nasty when she needs to be," he said. "I wish she'd gone to be an auror… bloody brilliant," he said. "Sorry," he said, noticing that John was confused. "Like the muggle police force."

"Ah," John said, starting to wish he had a dictionary for these terms. "How so?" he asked, clearly reading that Neville had a story he wanted to tell. It was sort of nice to see a bloke who wanted to show off his wife like that, brag about her.

"Well, she owns the pub and she runs it. She does all the security. One time we got a thief, not just a dumb kid, but a real one. My wife's strong enough to do a lot of the lifting, or smart enough to get the workers to do it when she can't, but this guy was big. She gave him all the money and when he tried to run out she slammed a table into his head. He ended up in St. Mungos for weeks before his was sent to trial," he said.

"How did she slam a table into him?"

"Obvious," Sherlock said. "Magic."

"Oh, right, sorry… just used to magic being a thing for little kids stories… no offense," John added.

"None taken. We like it that way, mostly. Muggles are quick to ignore possibilities they see as childish."

"Hm, quiet brilliant, actually," Sherlock said. "It seems not everyone in the wizarding world was an idiot during their history."

"We have some, I assure… our biggest problem is always getting our own to dress like muggles. You have no idea how much easier it's become for us since those American pop stars started dressing so funny. Makes people more accepting of wizards when they walk down the street. It's best now when people just assume we're odd and not wizards," Neville explained.

"Makes sense," John said. "Are… how are wizards bad at dressing as normal people, you do fine."

"I am also young enough to have learned, and I had special muggle training when I worked at the auror office, and I still own a number of suits… also, my girls go to a muggle school during the year."

"Really?"

"A friend of mine, Hermione Granger, she was muggle born, likely the smartest, best witch of our age. She used to work with laws dealing with the oppression of magical thinking creatures, but now she's expunging a lot of anti-muggle laws. Anyway, she's pushing for more modernization, uses of more electronics, of wizards kids going to muggle schools until they get their Hogwarts letters. She thinks it will improve education, especially for wizarding families that can't afford private tutoring… although I think she'd prefer if they all went to muggle schools."

"Why?" John asked, almost there, but not quiet.

"The wealthy, and those with the purest wizarding status are most likely to be the ones who can afford tutors, and also the most like to need to learn to be around muggles," Sherlock said. "Especially after that war."

"Yes, after Voldemort, and Grindlewald before him… two of the most powerful wizards of their time, next to Harry and Dumbledore, of course, but they supported anti-muggle regimes. Hell, there was even the muggle-born registration, sending muggle borns off to Azkaban-prison," he amended quickly for John's sake. "Saying that muggle borns stole the magic off a wizard, which is patently impossible," he added. "Truly impossible Mr. Holmes." He could see the look in Sherlock's eye. "We have books, I'm sure Mycroft Holmes will include them, if he doesn't, we'll stop by Flourish and Blots and let your pick your own today."

"So, what do wizards shop for?"

"What do muggle shop for?" Neville asked.

"Food, clothes, cars, gadgets," John said.

"About the same. Wizards are more likely to go to a muggle grocers, and more likely to buy brooms than cars, though there is apperation… um… what's the word… ah, teleportation," he said. "But, yeah… There's the book store, and the wand store, the ice cream shop, robe shop, pet store, apothecary, Quidditch… that's our sport. One of my friends always describes it as football on brooms." He said. He was taken aback when both Sherlock and John looked suddenly very interested. "What?"

"Seriously?" John asked. "Such a thing exists… no, Sherlock! We're not buying a broom!" He said suddenly. Neville feels his heart drop into his stomach. Of course that would be what Sherlock Holmes would want.

"Yes. I'm sure someone can get you into a game some time," Neville said, suddenly thinking this was a bad idea.

"Did you play?"

"Me? Merlin knows, I was dead awful at everything. First time I got on broom it shot straight up and I ended up with a broken arm. I was lucky I didn't break my head… I'm actually lucky I never splinched myself during my apperation test… sometimes I'm honestly surprised I survived growing up."

"Splinched?"

"Well… uh… It's when you leave part of your body someplace." He winced a bit, just as John winced. "My friend Ron didn't pass his test for it, ended up leaving half an eyebrow behind, but there was been messier ones, leaving a leg or half your body behind. Some wizards never learn to apperate. I don't blame them, but it's required for an auror, and I'd just finished watching many of my school mates and people I knew, teachers… people I loved and ones I hated…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"You were part of the large war?" Sherlock asked.

"The battle of Hogwarts, when Voldemort lost… look, I'm just not willing to talk about it. Just pick up a book and read it."

"Okay," John said, poking Sherlock with his knee to keep him quiet. He knew that kind of shut down that 'I'm sorry, but I really don't want to live all the people I killed and all the ones who died today' shut down. He also knew Sherlock would push it because Sherlock wanted to know about wizards, not because he really cared about wars.

The rest of the trip passed in silence. They stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron again. It was a little easier to see it because they knew it was there, and Neville took them right in. For a different day and different time of day it was still just like it'd been when they'd been there the previous day. The difference was that Mrs. Longbottom moved from behind the counter to pull her husband into an incredibly sexually heated kiss. John averted his eyes because it seemed wrong to do otherwise. Sherlock averted his eyes because he was bored.

"It's good to see you boys again," Hannah said, leaning against Neville, her hand possessively resting on his chest like he was a prize that could be stolen from her. John wasn't sure anyone would see Neville Longbottom that way, and with the way the woman kissed him, it was unlikely Neville would be willing to be won away. "Try not to run Nev too hard into the ground. He has to come back and help me run pub when you're done with him."

"Don't remind me," Neville groaned, but he was smiling.

"Now, a few ground rules," Hannah said. "Don't be heroes. You can't shop with the proper level of scrutiny at every shop. Go to Flourish and Blots, the book store, and the apothecary," she suggested. "And the Magical Menagerie… and the Owl Emporium, it's just a good idea. Knockturn Alley is for another day. You can visit Mr. Ollivander, but don't bother him. Your brother has credit at the stores. He sent instructions to buy the books and supplies you want, but that a proper cauldron and supplies will be bought anyway. The store keepers will keep tabs of what your purchase, and everything will be delivered later so there's no repeats," she instructed.

"Yes ma'am," John said, smiling a bit. "Anything else we should see?"

"You can go to Gringotts, the bank, on another day. It's such a pain to go. Just wander. It's worth it," she suggested before kissing Neville's cheek. "Go on," she said, sending them along.

Neville took a moment to straighten himself before turning back to Sherlock and John. He cleared his throat. "This way," he said, leading them to the back alley. "Only way to get in is with a magical instrument," he said, tapping a specific brick and allowing the entrance to create itself. John's eyes got huge, having never seen magic before. Even Sherlock looked a tiny bit impressed. He looked even more impressed when he actually saw Diagon Alley.

"Book store first," Neville said. "Well, one of them. We'll stop by Obscurus Books on our way out." He steered them to Flourish and Blotts, which was full, but not packed. John didn't care, the reader inside him came roaring out when he saw how books were packed into every corner of the store. He left Sherlock on his own, something he probably shouldn't have done to go find the fiction section.

Sherlock was very pleased with the store. He basically went to each shelf, finding interesting titles, glancing through them and either throwing the book back in its place or handing it off to Neville. Neville in turn handed it off to an attendant to be added to the buy pile. They wove their way into the store until they came to the back where the old iron cage Neville remembered from his third year sat. There were still about four unsold _Monster Book of Monsters_ in the cage.

"You still sell these?" Neville asked, remembering how much the owner had hated them. His girls weren't old enough to be in school yet, and he spent more time in Obscurus Books anyway.

"Eh, they discourage thieves… though we'll still unload one if you want," the man said.

"Yes," Sherlock said, utterly enrapt in the moving, monstrous books, which seemed to have settled down a great deal since Neville saw them last. His old copy was probably domesticated now. His girls even played with it.

"I'll get it," Neville said. He reached into the cage, grabbing one of the large hairy brown books before the others could realize what was going on. He got bit, but he also snapped tight against his side with his elbow and stroked the spine. It settled right down after that and the attendant could shut the cage while another got a belt to bind it with.

"How did you know to do that?" Sherlock asked.

"I got one when I was in school. It's domesticated now, but you have to stroke it to open it, and it love being read. The more you read it and stroke it, the less vicious it becomes… toward you. Mine will still attack strangers," Neville explained, letting the attendant belt the beast and add it to the stack.

"Good," Sherlock sand and moved on. They spent more than an hour in the store. Sherlock got no books on astrology, but spent a lot on books on the subjects of Muggle Studies, Potions, and Herbology. John bought a little over everything in every subject, focusing more on magical medicine and a lot of fiction, interested in how wizards lived more than in the non-fiction Sherlock preferred.

The next stop was the apothecary. Sherlock allowed Neville to help him put together a basic supply kit as well as picking supplies based on potions he'd read while in the store that seemed interesting. Neville knew for certain that he was not the man to teach Sherlock potions. He was wondering if he could get Hermione interested in that job… maybe, but she was very busy.

The next stop was a the Owl Emporium, along with an explanation of Owl Post, which Sherlock quickly decided was irrelevant and moved on to the Magical Menagerie. Sherlock was much more interested in what creatures were considered magical. He was curious about the number of hoping rats, but John stepped in to keep Sherlock from buying anything he'd later dissect. The one thing Sherlock did buy was a yellow Puffskein.

"They're easy to care for," the sales woman said. "Also long as you don't throw them out a window or into a fire or purposefully stomp on them they just last and last, and you can toss them about and they're fine. They feed and care of themselves for the most part, and as long as you pet them occasionally they're mostly content."

Sherlock bought one on the principle of him basically not being able to destroy it (John wouldn't let him have anything he could easily kill) and that it would basically care for itself. He had to bring back some magical living thing. John decided to name it Wordsworth because doing so annoyed Sherlock to no end.

After that was Obscurus books. It seemed like Sherlock cleared out half the shop, and John got the other half. They both liked old books. John found wizard interpretations of old muggle classics, and he found the criticism of said classics fascinating. Sherlock picked up the criticisms for his Muggle Studies, but mainly bought old potions books, and books on magical creatures. It was well past lunch, nearly supper by the time they finished and Neville just told them he was sending them home.

"I wonder what Hogwarts is like," John said wistfully as they sat with their meals in the Leaky Cauldron after they'd finished with shopping. John was wishing that he'd gotten a Hogwarts letter now. The child in him wanted to be a wizard so bad, it actually kind of hurt.

"You mean to study?" Sherlock asked. He also shared the sentiment. Of all the things he could do, magic was not one of them, but he'd figure out what he could do. Sherlock didn't like being purposefully left out of anything.

"Yeah, it'd be great, right?" John asked.

"Well, we'll be there for a month in September," Sherlock said.

"What, when was this decided?"

"When I spoke with Mycroft last night. We'll go to get more information about wizards. I can't imagine that they've had a lot of muggles around, it will be a great opportunity to study magic."

"Not like they study magic."

"No, but to study the form and learning of it, the way it's taught, John," Sherlock said. "A place where all they do is magic, can you imagine?"

"Yes," John said wistfully. "I wish the owl post wasn't as reliable as Neville said it was."

"Wishing your letter got lost in the mail?" Sherlock asked, smirking behind his butterbeer.

"Yeah, yeah, just laugh and get it over with."

"I wish the same," Sherlock said. John looked stunned and then he laughed. He went back to soup, shaking his head as he did so.


	7. Chapter 7

John discovered all over again when he'd known all long: the most dangerous Sherlock Holmes was a bored Sherlock Holmes, but the second most dangerous Sherlock Holmes was an entertained Sherlock Holmes. Four days passed before Sherlock started to really experiment with magic. John considered himself lucky Sherlock had waited that long.

The amount of time probably had to do with the fact that Sherlock had approximately a mountain of books to read, which even Sherlock Holmes at his lightening pace couldn't absorb in only one day. Even John spent a significant amount of time with his nose buried in a book. He'd drag his wizard fiction to work with him to read between patients, and stayed up late reading every night anyway.

The amount of time between Sherlock finding out about magic and his first experiment corresponded directly to the fact that Sherlock latched onto Arithmancy and Ancient Runes first. When John finally figured out exactly what Arithmancy was he was almost shocked at how Sherlock took to it, until Sherlock had vaguely explained it.

"It's hardly magical, John. It's similar to the process of creating insurance charts. With a large enough sample you can predict anything if you use the proper algorithm," Sherlock had said. John had a feeling that he could get it if he studied it for years. It took Sherlock no more than a day to memorize the complex charts, algorithms, and systems necessary for the study. He then promptly forgot most of it, deciding that it would have little practical use. Even if it was necessary, he remembered the parts it would take to re-figure out the rest.

Runes took approximately as much time for Sherlock to memorize them. Even John could see that it was basically a theoretical study. Sherlock seemed to deem it very important as John still found him looking at Runes on the fourth day.

The third day was devoted to the topics Sherlock seemed to actually care about. John saw Sherlock looking through various Muggle study books until Sherlock finally let out a loud sound of disgust and made the effort to get up and hand John a book titled _Home and Social Habits of British Muggles._ "Fix it, John," was all Sherlock said.

John didn't go to work that day, too busy going through the book and changing anything that was preposterous. Often John found himself staring at the page in shock of the sheer stupidity of what he was reading. Did wizards think muggles were a type of alien? Because that was the only way John could make sense of the terribly stupid mistakes the book made on trying to analyze the muggle thought process.

Sherlock retreated into Herbology and Potions text after that.

All in all, John felt lucky that Sherlock had waited four days. He felt lucky that _The Monster Book of Monsters_ kept Sherlock interested not just in the contents but in the book's ability to move on its own, and that Wordsworth the Puffskein would coo happily when Sherlock hurled him against the wall as he thought. John felt lucky that Sherlock actually seemed to think before he attempted a spell.

Still after the fourth morning when John had to call the newly installed phone at the Leaky Cauldron, and to shout at Neville to come with fix the large amount of purple billowing steam filling the apartment, John was more than a little frustrated that Neville hadn't come sooner to work with Sherlock.

"It's not like I'm not trying," Neville said after cleaning up Sherlock's mess with the flick of the wand. John was frankly jealous of that ability, especially since they couldn't open the windows and risk the neighbors seeing thick purple smoke.

"How hard is to come supervise?" John snapped.

"I'm hardly the one to do it," Neville said. "What part of barely passed Potions as a subject when I was in school did you not get before? I'm trying to get someone actually competent to come."

"Then how hard is to call someone?" John asked. Normally he wouldn't jump on such accusations of incompetency, but he'd been faced with complete uselessness. There was nothing he could to clean up Sherlock's mess this time except call someone else.

"It's very hard when the man in question doesn't have a phone. I sent him a letter by owl post and just got it back. I'm going to see him tomorrow and try to get him to come by," Neville said. He clearly was on edge as well. "Do you think you can hold him off until tomorrow?" he asked, looking at Sherlock who was sulking like a kid whose favorite game had been taken from him.

"Easier said than done," John muttered. "Sherlock, Lestrade called earlier with a case."

"It's a three, I distinctly told you I won't leave the house for any more than a six," Sherlock said.

"Then what about your blog. You've got clients or puzzles on there you can look at," John said. "Or hell, you bought like fifty muggle studies books, why not look at those?"

"Because you're moronic, John," Sherlock said. "I gave you the best one already."

"Which one?" Neville asked.

" _Home and Social Habits of British Muggles,_ " John said.

"Ah," Neville said. "Hmm… is that one bad?" he asked.

"I'm working on it," John said.

"It may be poorly written with many grammar errors, but it will at least be correct," Sherlock said.

"I'm working on it," John reiterated.

Neville left them after that, and John was left to keep Sherlock distracted. It didn't prove to be that hard. Sherlock did have correspondents to work on. He had only three that he felt marginally interesting enough to send response to, but otherwise he found them dull. John let him experiment a bit on Wordsworth, mostly looking at the hair and running a small blood sample. Wordsworth didn't seem to like Sherlock as much after getting his blood drawn. John had to pet and soothe him after that.

John was happy when Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs in the morning that they had visitors. John couldn't miss another day of work, especially because he wasn't even going to be there for a month. Mycroft would keep him from being fired, but John needed to be able to pay rent at some point. The army pension could only get him so far.

"We're having breakfast if you're interested," John said when the footsteps on the stairs got close enough. Well, he was having breakfast. He'd managed to get Sherlock to have an egg and a piece of toast, but John felt content in that.

"Anything better than normal bachelor's fair?" a man asked. John turned around to see the aging, round man come in behind Neville.

"Not really," John said, standing up. "John Watson."

"Horace Slughorn," the man said, shaking the hand John offered, but his eyes slid past John to Sherlock. "And you must be Sherlock Holmes," the man said.

"Potions teacher, well over sixty years of tenure, though with a retirement in between. Fought in the same battle Longbottom did about 13 years ago. You like luxury, live with it even though you can't afford it on a teacher's salary, which means that most of it comes from gifts, most likely from people you've influenced in the past," Sherlock said after giving the man a glance.

"Well, you are as a good as they say," Slughorn said. "Well, to work then," he said, clearing the table with the flick of his hand. Both John and Sherlock's eyes went wide, neither of them having seen anyone perform wandless magic before.

John went and got dressed for the day, looking into the kitchen to see Sherlock and Slughorn with their heads together over the cauldron as he headed out. When he returned home that evening Slughorn was still there, working with Sherlock on something that John decided not to ask too much about.

Slughorn became a very normal part of their lives after that. It wasn't just Sherlock who was interested in Herbology and Potions. John would often get involved when it came to healing potions. John quickly discovered that he enjoyed potions. There was something very soothing about it. You follow the instructions and you get something that could heal aches and pains or bone fractures, or even regrow bones. Both John and Sherlock had been very interested in getting the story of Harry Potter having to have all of the bones in his arm regrown out of Neville when he came to visit.

Three weeks passed like nothing for John, and the next thing he knew he and Sherlock were back to their old lives, with no Neville or Slughorn around to entertain them with stories about Hogwarts, or answer questions about the Dark Arts, or to help them with their continued crash course in potions. Neville gave John an emergency contact number in case one of Sherlock's potions experiments went awry.

"I'll see you both in Tweleve days," Neville said upon their last meeting.

"Tweleve days is a long time," John mused once Neville had gone. "Enough time for a case or something," he said a bit hopefully. He didn't know how else he was going to keep himself and Sherlock from climbing the walls otherwise. Eleven days between them and the chance to explore a magical castle.

* * *

Neville couldn't have been happier to get back to school at the start of term. Of course he was sorry to leave his girls behind, but he'd see them on weekends. Mostly he was just happy for the temporary respite from Sherlock Holmes. Neville had decided that he didn't dislike Sherlock, but he'd also decided that John Watson was a real hero for putting up with Sherlock Holmes all day every day. There was only so much Sherlock a human being could put up with, and Neville had been on call for Holmes Watch the entire end of the summer.

Professors arrived a day early to finalize lesson plans, meet the new staff and get all the announcements out of the way. They all needed to be on the same footing for when the term started. August 31st was all about business. That being said, that didn't mean that there wasn't plenty of gossip.

"Neville, is it true that you've been tutoring muggles this summer?" Septima asked with a secretive smile.

"I'd hardly call it tutoring," Neville said.

"Horace has been bragging on about how this muggle is one of the best pupils he's ever had," Bathsheba whispered like it was a big secret.

"I think he may have covered three years or more of potions in three weeks," Neville admitted. His two coworkers looked stunned.

"Talking about the muggle," Filius Flitwick said, coming into the staff room in time to hear the end of the conversation.

"Yes," Neville said. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be escaping Sherlock even when away from the man.

"As good as Horace says?" Filius asked.

"And probably just as much trouble as the Weasley twins were, combined," Neville said with a tired smile as the rest of the staff entered and took their seats. Helen Proudfoot took her usual seat next to Neville, who was closer to her age than the rest of their peers, but she was still a good 11 years older than him. Still, she had been an Auror until she retired after Voldemort fell, and took up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was serviceable, but Neville still occasionally wished that Harry would come teach. No one taught Defense like Harry could.

"Now," Pomona said, getting everyone's attention. "First order of business is to introduce to you our new Muggle Studies professor, Morgan Burbank." Neville had seen the woman and really, truly hoped that she wasn't who Neville thought she was. He politely clapped like the rest of them, but inwardly he was shuttering.

It seemed that they hadn't found anyone suitable by the deadline, because Morgan Burbank was clearly sent by the ministry. It wasn't that the anti-muggle sentiment was still very strong per say, but there were many witches and wizards who thought of muggles as quaint, as if they were defective people who could not have magic. These people would stand up and scream about muggle rights and how we had to protect the muggle way of life for their own good, and yet never saw muggles as people, only as a cause. Morgan Burbank was clearly one of those people. She was just terrible wizard and she had that dreamy type of smile to her that was too saccharine to mean that she cared about teaching students about muggles as anything more than a lesser species.

"Onto the second bit of business," Pomona said once the newly introduced chatter settled down. "As I'm sure most of you are aware already, we will be having guests through part of September and October. Misters Sherlock Holmes and John Watson will be observing classes and students during their stay here."

"The muggles," Thaddeus Lowry, the current transfiguration teacher said.

"We have agreed in hopes of improving muggle-wizard relations," Pomona said. Still, the rest of the group exploded into chatter once more. Neville grit his teeth and hoped this wouldn't be too much of an uphill battle.

"I'm not quite sure I understand," Aurora Sinistra's voice finally rose over the others. "Why exactly are we allowing muggles into Hogwarts, especially ones who have no relation to students."

"No, it's good," Morgan Burbank said. "It will be a good way to gauge muggle reaction to the wizarding world," she said. "I'm sure they will be quiet awed by what we have to offer," she added.

Neville tried to think of Sherlock Holmes being awed. Excited? Oh yeah, the man could reach that. Awe was something for lesser mortals, though. And while John Watson might awe at something, he doubted it would last too long.

"What I do not understand is why we are allowing the Statute of Secrecy to be broken," Aurora continued. Well, she had a good point.

"It's precisely to do the opposite," Slughorn said. "I tell you Aurora, Sherlock Holmes is one of the smartest men I've ever met, we allow a man like that to his own devices and he will blow the Statute of Secrecy completely."

"Then why are we allowing him in?" Thaddeus asked. "Why not obliviate him?"

"That wouldn't work," Neville said. "We could erase those parts of his memory and he'd notice that he's missing parts of his memory and go twice as hard to discover why, and this time he'd have no reason to keep our secrets. Trust me when I say this isn't a man we want to anger."

"No one can be that good, surely," Morgan Burbank said. Neville wondered if she meant no one, or no one muggle.

"He can," Neville said. "He can tell you your life story at a glance, he did it to me an Horace, and Harry Potter."

"Is there a possibility that he's magic, or charmed in some way?" Filius asked curiously.

"No," Slughorn said. "He's as muggle as they come."

"What is important," Pomona cut across the noise. "Is that he is a very capable investigator. I have been assured by the Auror department, and sources within the Ministry that Mister Holmes has been instrumental in solving some very high profile cases that the normal muggle police were unable to," she said.

"I wouldn't think that would be hard," Helen Proudfoot said.

"Not the magical cases," Neville added. "I read the cases John wrote up on his blog," he said. He noticed instantly the confused and vacant stares from his coworkers. "Blogs are like a self-published newletter that muggles created for the computer, and they're distributed instantly as soon as a new story is written."

"That doesn't seem that useful. How can you know what's good and what isn't?" Septima asked.

"Sometimes they aren't, but blogs allow for a greater amount of information to get out. Anyway, John Watson, Sherlock's partner writes their cases. They're very fascinating, in fact they're apparently quiet popular with the muggles."

"I did read a few," Slughorn added. "Quite remarkable. I'll see if John will print a few and send them along."

"If I may," Pomona asked, glad that the professors seemed to have calmed down on their own, and settled the arguments a bit on their own already. "I have been told that Mister Holmes may consult with the Auror office in the future, and they want him to have ready access to and understanding of our world. If he is as good as I have been led to believe he may be a valuable resource in catching perpetrators of the Dark Arts. We are being asked to do our duty," she said. That got everyone's attention. "And help Mister Holmes have a full understanding of our world."

"When will he observe our classes?" Morgan Burbank asked.

"Over time. He, and John Watson will be here for a month, and I have been told that they was done research on most subjects. I ask that you treat them with respect and offer to them your best resources. At the very worst these men will pose for the students as a formative memory of muggles and how they think of and treat wizards. And how we react to them will also affect how they see muggle-wizard relationships."

Neville nearly groaned. John Watson was a good man, upstanding, strong of will and heart. He was Gryffindor through and through. Sherlock was a Ravenclaw at best, Slytherin at worst, except that Sherlock seemed to have little true ambition except to not be bored. Still, Sherlock was one of the most caustic individuals Neville had ever met. The only people Neville considered more likely to insult students and staff alike were the Carrows. Neville wasn't even sure if Sherlock would have been as back as Snape. Surely Snape couldn't have been as bad as Neville's memories of him. Even still, Neville had trouble not associating Sherlock with Snape, which made their discussions less than comfortable.

And this was the man who would influence how students thought of muggles in the future? Neville wasn't sure that the insights Sherlock could provide to the Auror office would be worth the potential damage to muggle-wizard relations brought on by students exposure to Sherlock Holmes. Worst yet, it was far too late to try and keep him away.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, wow, this took a long time. I'm sorry to everyone who reads any of my stuff. I am trying to get back on top of it. I actually started to write this one just months ago and most of it got lost because of the Russia being a second world country. I don't know how else to explain it but that.**

**Also, for the sake of this story, Pomona Sprout is Headmistress after Minerva retired. Also, in the staff room, most professors will be thought of by their first name. Since it's Neville's POV, he will occasionally slip back to last name, especially if it's a professor he learned from.**


End file.
